Young, Not Stupid
by Asellia Skyrunner
Summary: Dean was the Strong One. Sam was the Reliable One. Lucy was just there, learning to be a Hunter and watching her mama throw everything into a life that would eventually kill her. She was a Hunter's kid, plain and simple.
1. Memories

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters that have been on the show. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Anyway, here's the story! I hope you like it, though I'm not sure if it'll expand beyond this. We'll see!**

* * *

She's little again—and she knows it, can feel it in her ache-free joints and scar-free skin, can see it because Sam and Dean haven't looked at her like that in years. Her lungs are shuttering against her ribs and her hands are shaking and everything in her body is screaming.

"Luce?" Sam brushes his hand over her forehead tentatively, like he's scared that it's going to hurt her. His doe-eyes are wide with concern and too big for his face and Dean's watching him closer than her—not that she's surprised. "You okay?"

She heaves in a heavy, stale-air breath and nods. "Fine."

But her voice is small—smaller than her normal one, at least—and it shakes a little bit around the edges and Sam sighs softly. His hands are gentle as they pull her in, wrap her up in an awkwardly-too-tight-definitely-not-her-mom embrace that smells like hotel soap and fear. "Nightmare?"

She shudders, leaning all her weight against him because he's at least familiar—and, in a weird way, he reminds her of Blake. What she remembers of him, at least. "Stupid." She mutters instead.

Dean eases his way off the bed, casting a careful look at Lucy before letting his eyes drift to Sam. Breakfast is waiting on the stove and it smells like over-cooked eggs and under-cooked bacon. Not that the boys would be able to tell the difference.

Sam shakes his head slowly. "It's not stupid." And his voice is reassuring—like she's breakable and tiny and scared—and maybe she _is _scared, and compared to Sam, she's certainly tiny, but he should know that she's not breakable.

She doesn't tell him.

"Not important, then." She amends, lifting her eyes to meet his for a second. They're warm, if not a bit unsure, and he offers a too-tired smile as he shrugs.

They both look towards the sound of plastic on worn-down wood. For a moment, Lucy catches the look on Dean's face that he struggles to hide—the one she doesn't have a name for, even after seeing it on all of her mama's friends.

Mr. John.

Bobby.

Mr. Will. (Though that one may not be true. He's been dead a while, she thinks, and her memory might be a bit skewed.)

Everyone.

But as soon as the look is there, it's gone, and he raises his eyebrows at her. "You okay?"

They both know the question isn't hers to answer—that it's not meant for her at all—but she answers anyway, because she's seven years-old and they think she doesn't know. At the same time, she and Sam reply, "Fine, Dean."

"Good." And he nods stiffly, points to the three plates on the table as he drops down in his chair. "Got some food, then."

She'd almost forgotten that Sam was holding her until his too-long-ten-year-old arms drop from around her and suddenly she's scared again. Thoughts push persistently against her fear, though, reminding her that she needs to be smart. Confident. She can't be scared, even if she wants to.

Besides, nothing bad ever happens with the Winchesters. Right?

* * *

Lucy's ten the first time the boys have to save her—ten and stupid. More than that, stupid and _scared_. She's practically shaking with it. But she tells herself she's not allowed to be because… well, because she's a Hunter's kid and because she has to be brave, right? For her mama.

But she's not and she's scared and she doesn't know what to do about it.

She doesn't know what to do because this thing's big. She's never seen anything like It before—not in her mama's books and not in the stories she's overheard when she was supposed to be asleep.

No. This, _this _is something she can't even begin to understand and she doesn't know what she's doing and she _knows it. _She knows it and this thing knows it too.

Maybe It thinks she's just some other kid but… but maybe not because there's that look in Its eye. The one that Sam and Dean told her about where It recognizes you for what you are, It's just not gonna tell you that.

Her breaths are erratic and shaky—and that's bad because that means that whatever this is, It knows she's scared. Not that it's not already obvious. Her hands are shaking and it's taking everything she has not to scream. Maybe that's why she's breathing so hard.

Something inside of her cringes as It leans in closer and bares Its teeth and _god _she hopes that Sam and Dean can find her. Some part of her knows it's not practical—she didn't tell them she was going out (which was _stupid _of her because that's Rule #3: Never go anywhere without telling someone) and even if they figure out she's in trouble, they're not tracking anything in the area.

Definitely not It.

She can't cry, though. No. If she's going to die (a horrible, shuddery-nightmare-ish thought that circles her like a vulture), she's going to do it brave.

Do her mama proud.

It chokes out a heavy, wet sound that she thinks might be a laugh. Maybe. But it stretches its long, slimy body closer to her and breathes heavily and she's shrinking back against the wall with her eyes locked on it because she has to.

Knowing is better than not.

Slime drips from Its clawed hand to her arm as the talons dig in, slicing through her skin like tissue paper and drawing a waterfall of blood from the appendage. She screams.

The door slams open (light's too bright, though. She can't see. She can't think. Maybe this is what death feels like) and heavy footsteps strike the ground and Lucy thinks maybe it's the Reaper taking pity on her and taking her quick.

But then there's cursing and she isn't dead yet (at least, she doesn't _think_ so) and It seems to peel Itself back as a scream ricochets through the room like the bullets from a nearby sawed-off. Not a Reaper.

Sam and Dean.

"Lucy?" Sam's dropping down in front of her, hands gentle as he picks her arm up from where it hangs limply at her side. "Dammit. Okay. Lucy, can you look at me?"

She nods, eyes still squeezed tight because she doesn't want to open them and because she can't think straight and because… because.

One more scream of bullets from the sawed-off and the thud of a heavy body falling and Dean cursing and moving closer.

Sam pulls her to her feet, and for a second—just a second—she lets herself cry. Two solid sobs that explain everything: the panic and the relief and the oh-my-god-it's-Sam-I'm-really-really-okay-now-I-pr omise and the apology and everything she can't put into words because (she's 10 and she doesn't even know what half the words she says mean) there aren't any words for it.

Sam just kinda smiles at her and Dean ruffles her hair and then she wipes her face with her good hand, straightens up a little bit, and presses down on her bleeding arm. Because Lucy is what she's always been.

A Hunter's kid, plain and simple.

* * *

Lucy knows better than to ask—and has for years because she's a Hunter, and moreover, because Sam has the Look. The Look that makes her stomach hurt and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her eyes search Dean's quickly. The Look that always leads to stone-cold silence that chills her to her core, broken only by the occasional frost-bitten explosion.

She stays firmly on the other side of the room, flipping through one of Bobby's rune books that her mama asked to borrow. She'd rather be talking. Catching up, at least, with the younger Winchester. She'd rather be doing homework than sitting in the stalk-still tension of Sam's anger.

But Bobby's rune book is at least _kind of _interesting and she's been through a lot worse since her mama decided to start using her as help. The scar on the back of her hand pangs harshly, a reminder of the most recent hunt-gone-wrong.

"Luce." She glances over at the sound of his voice, eyes struggling to refocus on the face that is both familiar and strained. Runes always mess with her head a little.

His lips are twisted in a hard line and his shoulders are set and his jaw is clenched but his eyes are watering and it takes everything in her not to scramble out of her chair and run her hands through his hair and reassure him that it's okay.

Whatever 'it' is.

"Yep?"

His hand curls into a loose fist, wrapped around nothing but stiff motel air. "You're scared of me."

It's a blanket statement, and it's heavy on her neck, like a pile of Bobby's old books is on her head and crushing her down smaller. It's what he thinks. What he sees. What he feels in the frigid summer day.

"No." She peels the cotton of her top off of her sweat-slicked back, because while it feels like Antarctica under Sam's gaze, it's a 94 degree day in the-middle-of-nowhere California. "Why would I be scared?"

He's Sam, after all, and he's always protected her and had her back and she can't find a reason in her 100-mile-an-hour-12-year-old mind to fear him, of all people. John, maybe. But not Sam.

He looks up at her and his eyes are bloodshot and they aren't so doe-y and big anymore, but they're confused and muddled and Dean's not there to tell her what it means with a look she can actually read. But somehow, she knows. Knows like she always has that there's something incredibly wrong. Something more than just the typical Hunter problems. Something more than she can fix.

Not that a 12-year-old can do much, anyway, unless it's Dean.

"Because _I_ am."

And she freezes, because he's never said anything like that before and it's the last thing she expects. Her mind's kicking into overdrive, tongue fumbling for something—_anything _—that can take that look off his face because it makes her want to die. (For a moment, she considers a hug. But no. Not that. Not now.) And she's struggling for something to say when he shakes his head in his hands and flops back on the black-and-white checkered bed and groans.

"Sam?" That voice isn't hers, not really, it belongs to another Lucy somewhere deep in her. The one that cried after nightmares and curled up beside Sam instead of doing research with him while their families were out kicking some kind of monster ass. That voice is too light and shivery and empty to be hers, because she's not tiny anymore.

"I'll be fine."

They both know it's a lie, but they cling to it like a raft until Dean tromps in 17 hours later—covered in mud and sweat and flecks of who-knows-what-species-blood. It's dripping off him onto the floor—the one Lucy and Dean will have to clean before they leave.

But at least she knows how to help Dean.

* * *

She doesn't have to look up from her book to know he's pissed—(about _what_, exactly, she's not sure) because Dean doesn't walk that hard unless something's wrong. He's no ballet dancer, of course, but he only tromps around like that when he wants to hit something.

Eyes drifting half-heartedly across the last line of the page, Lucy glances up at him. (Her eyes take a second to refocus—runes are hard, but Sumerian is like a brick wall.) "If you're gonna go all Dean-Angry-Dean-Smash on me, do it outside, would ya? It'd be nice to actually get the deposit back on _one _room."

His laugh is forced and hollow and barely even an attempt, lips drawn back in a sour look that makes her wonder if he ever really grew out of his kid-stage. (Then she remembers that he never really _had _one, and gives up the previous thought. He's entitled to some stupid rage every now and then.)

She flicks the book shut, thinking that she can give research a rest for just a second—after all, she's been at it since her mama left, (which puts her at almost 12 hours straight, excepting a lunch break) and with the way he's stomping, something's happened with Sam.

"So where is he?" She sounds cooler than she feels, because Dean's never been _this _angry around her and she doesn't know what to do with herself. It makes her a tad fidgety, legs crossing and uncrossing as she watches him pace across the room.

His grimace just tightens up. "College."

It's not what she was expecting. (with-Dad, cooling-off, investigating-at-some-diner, maybe. Don't-know-don't-care, even. But not _that_.) Her eyes widen a bit and she shifts in her seat to get a better look at Dean because this isn't some pansy fight between family or even an infamous Winchester-Blowout, this is _big_.

"College?" She repeats it because maybe she didn't hear right. Maybe the Sumerian's messing with her hearing, too. Maybe she's dreaming. Maybe…

Dean's replying glare is paralyzing. In all her ten years of knowing Dean, in the whole fifteen she's been alive, she's never seen someone _that _messed up. It's not just anger anymore—it's hurt and abandonment and fear and I-can't-protect-him-from-here and guilt.

"Yeah…" She mutters to herself as she watches a man she's known her whole life fall apart, stitch by stitch. (His wounds are ragged and his breath is labored and he's trying so hard not to cry because he's just Dean like that. She gets it, even as he buries his face in his hands as he drops onto one of the beds.)

He nods, short and heavy. Lucy feels kind of like she's twelve again—completely helpless and frantic, but it's a thousand times worse because this is Dean and she can see _right through him_.

And he's broken. More than that, he's fractured straight down the middle and crumbling in on himself and she isn't sure what to do. Everything she knows feels wrong, because she's convinced herself that Dean's the strong one and Sam's the one she'll always have to back her up and now both of those things are wrong.

(She needs someone to hold her, even though she's too old for it; needs someone to reassure her that Sam'll be okay and Dean'll stop crying and she'll be able to think straight soon.)

Silence is thick in the room. Watching him hurts. She can't think.

Lucy flips her book back open, because at least Hunting makes sense.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed! **

**If you did, leaving a review or something along those lines would be helpful but not necessary!**

**Caroline**


	2. College Boy

**Here's a sort-of second installment in this... just to get a bit more of a feel for Lucy. She's not grown, yet, though we'll get there eventually, and this only covers one event. Anyway, I hope you enjoy... **

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Lucy's mama looks at her carefully, brown eyes steady and careful and maybe just a little bit worried—like she knows something Lucy doesn't. (What that is, Lucy has no idea, but there's probably _something_ and she's probably just not thinking about it.)

She nods briskly, straightening her light jacket a bit as she unbuckles her seatbelt. "Positive." She is. She's absolutely determined, because even if he left Hunting, he hasn't left _her. _Right?

"Alright." Her mama's voice is gruff, shoulders tight as she looks at Lucy for one long, slow moment. "I'll be back in a few hours."

So Lucy climbs out of the car and starts towards the school—weaving through the students and hoping she doesn't stick out _too bad_. But she's 15 and they look so much older than her and _dammit¸_ it doesn't matter if she looks mature for her age, she stands out like a sore thumb.

It bothers her more than it should—makes her feel like her skin's too tight and her eyes are too dry and her shoulders pull tightly towards each other—but she has to push on. She has to see Sam, just check in on him and be sure he's okay. Because college is a whole new world.

Lucy yanks the map she'd printed off out of her pocket and consults it, finger trailing purposefully down the path she has to take, already marked out by neon-yellow highlighter that she high-jacked from a library. She doesn't have far to go, just a few blocks to the left and one or two straight, but in the California heat, it would feel longer.

She groaned, sliding through the crowd and avoiding the glances from curious College Kids. She's not one of them. She never _will be_. Like Dean, school's not exactly her thing, though that may be because she spends so much damn time reading Sumerian that she can't seem to find the importance of Shakespeare.

Unless, of course, Shakespeare was actually _right _about the witches. But he wasn't.

The heat is heavy on her skin, and her jacket is way too much—the tank-top underneath seeming much more comfortable in the burning sun. But the scars throw that idea down the toilet; bright-white lines of her history.

Almost a block from Branner Dorm, she sees Sam. He's walking with some girl—and Lucy can tell he likes her just by the way he's smiling. It's not the casual, yeah-that's-kind-of-funny-but-I-don't-quite-fell-i t one that he gives most people; it's the true-blue, I-feel-better-with-you-in-my-life smile that he saves for Dean and Bobby and her.

She looks at College Girl—with her long, blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and that smile that Lucy can't quite place but knows is just a little bit perfect—and suddenly knows what her mama was asking about. (She didn't expect this, the ache in the deep pit of her chest as she looks at him, the burning heat of tears that she won't cry, the stupid twist in her gut as she stands stalk-still in the middle of the path and just _watches_.)

Because Sam's frat-boy haircut is flipping in the scalding breeze and he's carrying textbooks and he's laughing at College Girl. But it's the outfit that seals the deal—a green short-sleeve button-down and a white t-shirt peeking out of the unbuttoned section.

He's not just leaving Hunting. He's not just leaving Dean and John. _He's leaving her, too_, and the realization burns like the tears that push back against her eyes.

Lucy spins on her heal, a strangled sob caught in her chest as she shoves it all down—the map wrinkles its way into her pocket, hand clenching around it like it'll make this a dream, like, if she wishes hard enough or bottles her tears, it won't be true.

But she knows better, as she hears the loud boom of Sam's-real-laugh behind her and feels the clench in her chest as another sound gets caught in her throat. It's lined with barbed-wire, she knows, because she feels it every time she swallows.

The Sam she knows, loves like a brother, is gone. More heartbreaking than that, though, is knowing that he won't stay that way forever, and wondering what tragedy will bring him back.

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! I'll try to update more frequently, if I can, but life is really hectic right now. Anyway, if you did like it or have something in particular that you want to see, let me know with either a PM or a review!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Cali**


	3. Chalk-Full of Maybes

**Another chapter up... this one more Dean-centric. Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

"_Dammit, boy_."

She hears the growl through the door and it's near enough to make her freeze. Wordlessly, her mama looks at her, lips a thin line of disapproval and eyes flashing warnings.

_Don't go in there._

_Don't get involved._

_I know, Lucy, I know. _

There's the slam of a table flipping, the whispering of flying paper, the thunk of heavy books. Her mama just keeps looking at her.

_It's not our business._

_And no, it's not right but what about this is?_

_You're a Hunter, kid, you can't go messing around in this._

But her mama doesn't say that, she doesn't tell her no, even as her hand settles on the doorknob. Even as the thunderous beats of John's heels approach the door. And Lucy rears back, whipping herself into a chair right as he storms through the door and out into the night.

"Hailey." He snaps as the door to the impala wrenches open. "We hunting or not?" There's command in his voice—sharp and biting and militaristic, the command that Winchesters automatically straighten for.

But her mama's not a Winchester. She crosses her arms as she pushes off from the wall, eyes a wicked clanging silver. Her jacket smoothes its way over her shoulders, slow and easy and daring. "Sure, John."

But her tone says they'll be doing more than Hunting. And, with a flick of her hand in Lucy's direction, the door's closing behind her and the parents are gone.

Lucy's standing in Dean's doorway before she hears the other door close, hands twitching at her sides as she looks at him. And he's standing there with his fists clenched and his eyes shut tight and his shoulders so tense she's afraid they might get stuck that way.

"They're gone." She offers quietly, like it's not obvious, because she's not sure he's even realized it. Her knees hit the ground as she starts shuffling up papers, head still ringing with John's snappish tone and pulse racing because the longer he stands like that, the more sure she is that Dean's going to go drinking.

She hates it when Dean drinks.

His fisted hands move, uncurl, fall open. "Right. Good."

Lucy is 16 to his 23, which means she doesn't know jack shit about what he's going through—not to mention the fact that she might as well be an only child and she's a girl and she hasn't grown up under the shadow of _John Winchester_. Lucy doesn't know jack shit, but she knows Dean.

Maybe that's why she pushes up off the ground and moves towards him, watching his eyes blink blearily open, extending a hand for his like it's normal, like they've done this since she was five and it was the only way he could keep her still. Maybe that's why he takes it.

She treads carefully around the landmine of papers, Converse light on the worn linoleum and fingers twining between Dean's. He tugs her to him, wraps his arms around her still-figuring-it-all-out frame, rests his chin on top of her head. And, like she always knows when someone's watching her, Lucy knows he's watching the window. With her face shoved against his chest, though, all she knows is that he smells like rain and well-worn leather and guilt.

Maybe he's looking for the impala.

Maybe he's looking for a girl.

Maybe he's looking for trouble.

But probably, he's looking for Sam.

"Thanks, kid," Dean whispers against her hair, and she knows that the same breath will be heavy with alcohol the next time he breathes around her. "I owe you one."

For what, Lucy doesn't know.

She doesn't wait for him to come home.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! :) Please leave a review if you have any comments or suggestions, or feel free to PM me! :)**

**~Cali**


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